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“Where’d those come from?”

“I was hoping you’d know. They were delivered
today, but there was no card.” Ava’s midsection grumbled, reminding
her that despite the stressful afternoon and unnerving stories of
storms and men lost at sea, she was indeed starving and began to
eat. Jonathan continued eating, head down with a sly grin spread
across his face, and said, “Maybe my mother has a secret
admirer.”

“No, I had to sign for them. They were for
me.”

“For you? Who from?” he demanded, mouth full
of food. It was fine to joke of his mother having a secret admirer
but not funny in the least that Ava might have one.

“I assumed you. Who else would it be?”

He pushed his chair back and she watched him
dig through the flowers, looking for a card. “I take it they aren’t
from you.”

He returned to the table a moment later, and
he was not at all amused. “Who in hell would be sending my wife
flowers?” he grumbled, staring at them fiercely.

“Maybe it was a mistake?” Ava offered,
picking at her cold food.

“No. Someone in this town is sweet on you.
And I’m going to find out who it is–set him straight. I'm gone
twelve hours a day, six days a week, but that doesn’t leave an open
invitation for other men to move in on what’s mine!”

Ava tried not to enjoy the jealous side of
Jonathan too terribly much. “Jon, I’m sure you’re mistaken,” she
said coyly as she picked at a piece of dinner roll.

“What else would it be, Ava? There are a
dozen, long stem roses sitting over there. For you. Not from me.
That’s a problem.”

She could see, even in the dim light, the
redness creeping up his neck, into his cheeks and ears, a slight
flare to his nostrils; things that happened only when he was truly
angry. Ava had trouble suppressing a grin at his appearance. He
resembled a disgruntled peacock.

“Stop worrying and finish eating, Jon. I’ll
throw them out tomorrow.”

“I’ll throw them out right now.” He sprinted
over, seized the roses, flung open the back door, and propelled
them out. A powerful gust sucked them out into the storm. Her lips
twitched in amusement of the testosterone-laden protection of his
territory.

“I went to see Arianna today,” she mentioned
casually as he returned to his seat, proud of fulfilling his
mission. He leaned back and crossed his arms as if to prove a point
to someone or something invisible.

“How is she?” he asked with a tone of
indifference; his mind was still struggling with the identity of
the sender and more importantly, how he would find this person.

“She’s fine. Fairly spoiled,” she scoffed.
“She has no intention of moving out anytime soon.” She realized
that he wasn’t really paying attention to her. “Jon, please.” She
reached out for his hand and he reluctantly unfolded his arms.

“Maybe you don’t understand, Ava.” He leaned
forward on the table and squeezed her hand. “You’re mine. I don’t
take too kindly to someone trying to woo my wife with flowers while
I’m miles away unable to do anything about it.” His eyes were
serious and possessive, and she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted it
to end. Selfish of me, she thought. But after experiencing the dark
times with him, lonely dark times when she feared he loved another
more, she would selfishly enjoy this for a few moments.

“No one is trying to woo me, Jonathan. You
have nothing to worry about.”

He leaned back again, still holding her hand
possessively and stared at his plate. “Sunday, I’m going into town.
I’ll ask around and find out who sent them and when I do . . . .”
He shook his head and hurled a look that finished his sentence.

“We were invited by Caleb’s parents to dinner
on Sunday. The whole gang will be there. It should be nice. Claire
flipped me for the barn . . . and I won.” She gave him a suggestive
grin. He blankly stared at her, having clearly missed the meaning.
She rolled her eyes, tilted her head, and smiled sheepishly at him.
“Strained living conditions and close quarters might cause a couple
to sneak off to the barn after dinner . . . .”

“Ahh.” His face lit up and he nodded, a
devious smile broke the tension in his face. “Why don’t you take
pity on Claire and offer her the barn on Sunday?”

“Why? I won fair and square!” she argued
indignantly and rose to clear the plates.

“Well, in case you haven’t noticed, there’s a
raging storm going on outside.” He carried their glasses to the
sink. “And I was going to show you the benefits of loud, pelting
rain and howling wind. Makes close quarters seem . . . not that
close,” he spoke through a smile as his lips brushed her neck.
“Leave those for the morning,” he said, turning her around. The
house shook with a violent wind gust, and Ava shivered from the
sudden chill.

“It’s not our week,” she said dryly, dipping
her head away and tensing slightly at his pull. “But Sunday–”

“Let’s leave it to chance.”

“What? Jon, how could we possibly–”

“Listen. I’ve thought it all through.” She
stared at him with the mixed frustration of their situation and
longing to grant him the family that he wanted. “If we throw
caution to the wind, it would take a few months, right? That’s what
I’ve heard anyway. By the time it happened, we’d be in our own
place, and then we’d still have almost a year to get things ready.
Plenty of time.” He squeezed her shoulders with insistence, his
voice convincing. She sighed and averted her eyes, still unsure.
“Ava, it will be fine. I promise. I’ll work night and day to make
sure that you and the baby have everything you need.”

“What if I don’t want you to work night and
day? What if I want you home with me more? You’re gone all the time
as it is.”

“It will even out soon. We’re on one hell of
a learning curve right now, but it won’t always be like this.”

“Why do you want this so badly? It really is
the worst possible time.”

“And if we wait for the perfect time, it will
never happen,” he said with frustration. “Ava, listen to me. It’s
hard to explain why I want this so badly. I don’t know that I can
explain it. But I can tell you that after living through what I
have, almost losing you, losing all hope, feeling so empty–” He
shuddered, hating to revisit that time for even a second. He took
her face in his hands and continued, his voice and eyes full of
conviction. “I feel so differently now. Despite our poverty and
living in one borrowed room with everything we own in a trunk, I’m
happy. I feel alive. All I want to do is celebrate and make more
life. A living breathing tribute to what we have, what we’ve been
through, what we’ve overcome. A part of each of us creating a bond
stronger than even those of our wedding vows.” His eyes flickered
down to her mouth, slightly agape, breaking the concentration of
the stare. She inhaled suddenly, realizing she had been breathless
during his heartfelt speech and as she stepped back a few inches,
the world around her reappeared. She couldn’t say no, not after all
that, but still hesitated to agree.

The wind gusted again, slamming into the side
of the house with enough force to rattle the windowpane, startling
her. A distant foghorn’s low moan was barely audible above the roar
of the wind and sent a cold panic through her. Thoughts raced
through her mind. Were there men out there now being thrown around
on violent seas, straining to see the shore, to see home in vain
through the fog and rain? The lights were probably out to the whole
town, so one rocky shore would seem no different than another. The
solitary, incandescent glow from the lighthouse was the only guide,
if it could even be seen. What if he were still out there? What if,
God forbid, he hadn’t come home? She could hardly force her mind to
think it, but, if one day he didn’t come home, at least she would
have that; a piece of him to hold forever. She suddenly and
selfishly made a decision that very second. Her mouth opened to
tell him what he wanted to hear.

“I’ll give you some more time then,” he
whispered and kissed her forehead. Gentle, disappointed eyes smiled
at her. He led her out of the kitchen, picking up the oil lamp on
the way.

She could think of no dignified or romantic
way now, as he closed the door to their room behind them, to tell
him yes, she would, she wanted to more and more as every second
ticked by, she wanted to.

Several minutes later, he blew out the wick,
and she lay under piles of covers, trying to think of a way to
resurrect the conversation. She squirmed under the covers
awkwardly, voicing mild grunts.

“What are you doing?” he asked, lifting his
head in the dark. Something light and soft landed on his face.
Using his hands, he quickly identified it as a silken undergarment,
still warm from the wearer. “What’s this?” He held it up by one
finger, displaying a grin she couldn’t see.

“That’s me . . . throwing caution to the wind
and leaving it to chance.”

“Are you sure?” He gave her one last chance,
even though he was already reaching for her.

“I’m sure,” she whispered as he pulled her
under the quilts.

∞∞∞

Sunday morning, Ava pitched straight up in
bed and woke with a gasp. The same dream had haunted her three
times that week. It started out pleasantly enough, but ended with
her standing atop jagged rocks, staring into the blackness of a
storm, holding a black-haired baby, crying and calling for
Jonathan.

She sank her face into her hands, took a few
deep breaths, and then focused her eyes on brilliant rays of
sunshine streaming through the window, which warmed her legs.
Jonathan wasn’t beside her, but she was used to that. Six days a
week she woke alone, Jonathan having left for the boat hours before
she stirred. But this being Sunday, she had expected him to be
there. She threw on a robe quickly and headed downstairs, hoping he
would be at the table with coffee, waiting for her.

There was fresh coffee on the stove but only
a note on the table, which explained that his parents had gone to
visit friends for the day and that he had gone to run some errands
but would be back in time for dinner. Frustrated, she tossed the
note on the table. He could have woken me to go with him on the
only day we have together. Now we’ll have just a few hours together
before the week begins again.

She bathed and laid out three dresses to
choose from for the evening. They were all somewhat plain, but she
supposed an informal farmhouse dinner party wouldn’t require much
more. She chose a pink and white, cotton dress with a scoop neck.
She pondered both the ringlet curl iron and the steam envelope for
waves and decided to fashion her hair with the ringlet. She sprayed
the bouncy rolls with sugar water and her hands and cheeks were
sticky as a sweet roll by the time she was finished, but the curls
held nicely. She prayed bees weren’t out this time of year.

The idea itself came from one of Arianna’s
animated tales about growing up in Georgia and that sugar water was
primarily used for hair setting, although not entirely practical in
the summer when bees were out in full force. She had once snuck
into her sister’s room late on a July night and sprayed sugar water
on her hair to get back at her for a mean joke she had told about
Arianna winding up an old maid. She was tickled pink as the bees
chased and stung her sister all the following day.

Later that afternoon, Ava was digging through
the trunk, looking for a pair of stockings when Jonathan came
through the bedroom door, one arm tucked behind his back. Hands on
hips, she whirled around.

“Where have you been?” she snapped, although
she was happy that he was home.

“I told you I was going into town to find out
who sent you those flowers,” he said and smiled wide.

“Well, did you? I’d hate to think that the
entire morning was spent away from me in vain.” His smile dropped
slightly.

“No, I didn’t find out. But the trip wasn’t
in vain.” He produced a large bouquet of roses even more vibrant
and beautiful than the ones previously delivered. Two dozen, not
one.

“Jonathan.”

“Don’t you dare say I shouldn’t have. First
of all, it’s been far too long since I’ve come home with flowers
and second . . . .” Lowering his nose to the roses, he slowly
looked up at her through his lashes. “I won’t be outdone by some
anonymous schmuck who thinks he’s going to muscle in on my
territory.”

“That’s hardly the case, Jon,” she said,
smiling and smelling the roses. “Roses in March. Must have cost a
fortune. You really-”

“Ah, I said don’t say that. Besides, I had an
interesting thing happen today.”

“What would that be?”

He removed his shirt and rummaged through the
trunk for one of his nicer ones.

“Well, I was asking around at some places
that sold flowers and met a guy, a reporter for the newspaper in
Boston. He was doing a piece on Rockport fishermen and asked if I
wanted to be featured. That’s what took so long. I went to get Aryl
while he gathered his equipment and he met us down by the boat.
Asked us a bunch of questions about fishing and then took a picture
of us next to the Ava-Maura for the newspaper.”

“Your picture will be in the paper?”

“Yeah, but that’s not the best part.” He
pulled a black sweater over his head and ran his fingers through
his hair to straighten it. “I had the guy put in a quote that we’d
sell for two cents less a pound than anyone else. Should have more
buyers than we can handle shortly. Just in time for us to all go
solo and triple our payload. I told you everything would work out,”
he said, grinning happily and went to the closet to choose between
the two pair of slacks he owned.

∞∞∞

Arianna was so happy to have anything that
remotely resembled a party that she was nearly bursting at her
emotional seams. She fussed over her hair and dipped into her
precious reserves of makeup. She grew aggravated when she was
sidetracked and had to sew extra panels of fabric into the sides of
her best dress to allow more room around the middle.